


Freedom for Felicity

by osprey_archer



Category: American Girls Books - Various Authors, American Girls: Felicity - Various Authors
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:10:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osprey_archer/pseuds/osprey_archer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity hasn't seen Elizabeth or Ben for years, but in 1787, they both return to Williamsburg. But will this be the last time that Elizabeth comes to Virginia? And can Felicity mend her quarrel with Ben?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elizabeth's Return

“Steady, my girl,” Felicity’s father told her, a hand on her shoulder as they stood on the dock, watching the sailors tie up the Sea Sprite. “You know Elizabeth might not even be on this ship.”

“I know,” said Felicity. But she could hardly stand still. Four long years ago, when the Coles had left Williamsburg after the Treaty of Paris was signed, Felicity had thought she would never see her best friend again. But now Elizabeth was coming back – on this very ship, her letter had said! 

The gangplank banged on the dock. Felicity bunched her hands together in her skirts. “You’re getting in a shipment of tea, aren’t you, Father?” she asked, trying to sound calm and natural. 

“Coffee,” said her father. “People seem to have gotten out of the habit of – ”

But Felicity wasn’t listening anymore. Elizabeth was coming down the gangplank! Forgetting entirely that she was twenty-one and quite a young lady, Felicity raced down the dock. Her hat flew off her head and her hair burst from its pins, streaming down her back like she was a little girl again. “Elizabeth!” she shouted, raising her hand. 

Elizabeth, always more ladylike, nonetheless leaped the last few steps off the gangplank and rushed to her. “Lissie! Lissie!” she cried.

Felicity gave Elizabeth a fierce hug. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “When the storm blew in a few days ago, I was so sure your ship would go down.”

 “I almost wished it had,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “I was so sick! But Papa and I made it in all right.”

She stepped back to look at Felicity. Elizabeth, who had been so tiny they called her Bitsy, had grown so tall – taller than Felicity now! And she looked so elegant! But her grin said that she was the same old Elizabeth. 

Mr. Cole came down the gangplank. “Miss Merriman,” he said, bowing gravely to Felicity. She dropped him a curtsey in return. “Would you mind if Elizabeth stays at your home for a few days? I’m afraid I must go directly to our plantation, and an empty house would be a cold welcome for Elizabeth.” 

“Of course we would be delighted!” Felicity cried. “Will she be here until next Saturday? The Lees are having a ball, and it would be so wonderful if she could come?”

“I don’t think I could drag her away,” said Mr. Cole, with a smile. 

Felicity and Elizabeth hurried through the streets of Williamsburg, arm in arm. “I’m sorry Annabelle couldn’t come too,” she said, more out of politeness as real desire to see Annabelle. Felicity and Annabelle had come to a truce when they nursed Elizabeth during an outbreak of scarlet fever; but they were simply too different to ever terribly fond of each other. 

“Well, she’s busy with her husband. And she never did like Virginia as much as I do,” Elizabeth said, and squeezed Felicity’s elbow. “Almost October and still so warm! Why, in England I would be absolutely mummified with shawls at this time of year.” She took a deep breath as they passed a bank of flowers. “Annabelle met her husband at a mummy party we went to last year. They unwrapped a mummy, and all the most peculiar gold jewelry fell out.” 

Felicity felt a stab of envy. She loved Virginia, of course; but oh, how provincial it seemed when she compared it to Elizabeth’s life!

“Oh, I’m so glad there’s to be a ball!” Elizabeth said. “I love to dance.” 

“Our ball won’t be quite as exciting as a mummy party,” Felicity said. 

“But you will be there,” said Elizabeth. She gave Felicity’s elbow another squeeze, to say that she was better than any mummy, and Felicity felt warm all through.

“What did bring you here?” she asked – for she knew, much as Elizabeth might want to see her, that alone would not be reason enough to make a perilous and expensive voyage. 

Unhappiness flitted over Elizabeth’s face. “I don’t know if you recall that my father owns a plantation?” she said. “That’s what brought us here in the first place. He has decided to sell it.” 

“Oh no!” said Felicity. “So you’ll never come back to Virginia again?” 

“Probably not,” said Elizabeth, miserable. “But it seemed – well – ” 

She glanced at Felicity, hesitantly, and suddenly Felicity understood. “You’re freeing your slaves, aren’t you?” Felicity cried, and felt a rush of pride, but also a little pierce of sorrow in her heart. Without their plantation, the Coles would have no reason to come back to Virginia. 

But there Felicity went, thinking only of herself again. She remembered her last quarrel with Ben. You talk about freeing his slaves, but you’re never going to do it, are you? 

He had left not long after Elizabeth. And he, unlike Elizabeth, had not written.

Felicity closed her eyes, pushing back the memory, and forced them open. Elizabeth was still looking at her anxiously. “Oh, but that’s wonderful!” Felicity cried, and Elizabeth gasped with relief. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you see it that way,” she said. “Annabelle’s husband thinks Papa’s quite mad to even contemplate freeing his slaves. But we felt – ” 

She paused, as if searching for words. Felicity jumped in, “Yes, we felt the same. It just seemed ridiculous to be fighting for our own freedom, and remain petty tyrants on our own plantation.”

“Well, not exactly that,” Elizabeth said, and the two friends looked at each other and started to laugh. Of course Elizabeth’s Loyalist family wouldn’t think there was any similarity between the King’s rule and a slave owners’. 

But Felicity quickly grew sober. “But you’ll have no reason to come to Virginia after this,” she said. 

“I know,” Elizabeth said. “It is the right thing to do, but – sometimes it is terribly hard to do right.” 

Felicity thought of Ben – how could thinking of Ben three years after their last quarrel still hit her like a punch in the stomach? – who had lost two fingers at Valley Forge. And she thought of her grandfather, who had caught his fatal illness saving Elizabeth’s father from jail. Her stomach clenched tighter still. No matter what Ben said, her grandfather had been a hero.

She had gotten good at pushing such thoughts aside. “If this is your last time in Virginia, we simply must make the most of it,” she said. Impulsively she grabbed Elizabeth’s hands and spun her in a circle. They almost careened into a passing cart. “We’re going to a ball in three days! We have so much to prepare!”


	2. "I'd Marry You!"

“You both look so beautiful,” Mrs. Merriman said, smiling as Felicity and Elizabeth pirouetted to show her their ball gowns. They’d finally finished the trim on Felicity’s, and not a moment too soon. Their escorts would be here any minute! 

“Such beautiful stitchery, Lissie,” Mrs. Merriman added, tucking her needle into her embroidery frame. 

Felicity flushed with pleasure. “Elizabeth did the hard parts,” she said, twirling so her full blue skirt swished around her legs. 

“Oh, hardly!” said Elizabeth, flushing delicately pink at the praise. She looked just as lovely as she had when she arrived in Williamsburg, with her golden hair curled to frame her classical features. 

“Oh, Elizabeth, I’m sure you’ll be the belle of the ball!” Felicity cried. Elizabeth flushed even rosier, so her cheeks were almost as pink as her gown. “Oh, Elizabeth, maybe one of the men will fall in love with you. Then you won’t have to leave Virginia at all!”

Elizabeth half-hid her face with her hands, her old shyness overcoming her ladylike manners. “Oh, do you think so?” she asked, peering out between her fingers.

Felicity darted in and kissed her cheek. “If I were a man, _I’d_ marry you!” she cried.

Mrs. Merriman smiled. “And I’m sure the men at the ball will think so too,” she said. “Aside from Humphrey and Stuart, Francis Tilney will be there; and – ”

But before she could get any farther, Felicity's little sister Polly shouted from the kitchen, “Mother!! Is the chimney supposed to be billowing smoke?” 

Mrs. Merriman stood up and kissed Felicity lightly on the forehead. “I’d best go see our Pollywog hasn’t set anything afire,” she said, and left.

“Afire?” said Elizabeth. “She sounds just like you as a girl!”

“Oh, hardly!” said Felicity. Polly was rather a trial to her. “She hasn’t stolen a horse yet.” She paused. “Oh, don’t tell Polly I did that. She’s wild to ride Patriot – Penny’s foal, you remember. I don’t want her to try running off with him.”

Elizabeth laughed. She sat on the couch, spreading her burgundy skirts about her. “Who are our escorts?” she asked. 

“My cousin Humphrey will escort me. You…” Some of Felicity’s excitement leaked out of her, and she grimaced. “Stuart will escort you.” 

“Stuart?” asked Elizabeth.

“He’s Father’s new apprentice,” Felicity said. “And a great help to Father in the shop,” she added, conscientiously, but his jowly hangdog face came before her eyes again, and she burst out, “He’s just…so… _dull_. He’s nothing like Ben at all!” 

The name seemed to hang in the sudden silence. Felicity’s face heated, and she felt Elizabeth’s eyes on her. She had not explained to Elizabeth about Ben: she had simply stopped mentioning him in her letters, and eventually Elizabeth stopped asking.

Felicity went to the window. She leaned her hands on the cool sill. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have explained. I tried to write letters, but somehow they never came out right…” She had written letter after letter to Elizabeth, but in the end they all seemed foolish and petty, and she had ripped them up and burned them.

“Is he dead?” Elizabeth asked, gently.

“Ben? No!” Felicity said, startled. But of course that question made sense: he had simply dropped out of Felicity’s letters. “We quarreled about Grandfather’s plantation. We had been talking about freeing the slaves, but somehow it never seemed like a propitious time, and Ben…” Felicity looked out the dark window. Her face looked back at her, wavery and pale in the glass. “Lots of people talk about freeing their slaves, you know, but hardly anyone does.”

“But you did,” Elizabeth said, puzzled. 

“Later,” Felicity said. Her fingers trembled on the sill. “Later on. After I realized Ben was right – I knew all the time that he was right, I think; I would not have been so angry with him otherwise.”

“Did you tell Ben?”

“No! I can’t bear for him to think I did it only to please him, and not because I thought it was right. And it wouldn’t change anything, anyway. He said things – he said something horrible about my grandfather.”

“Your grandfather was a hero,” Elizabeth said, and came to stand by Felicity at the window. She put her hand over Felicity’s, lacing their fingers together. “I will never forget how he saved my father.”

Felicity’s throat swelled at her kindness. She looked into Elizabeth’s blue eyes, trying to say thank you with her gaze, and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. 

The clatter of Polly’s feet on the floor interrupted them, and they turned just as Polly galloped into the room, her red hair bouncing behind her. “Mama says you’ve _finally_ finished that gown!” she cried. “Can you take me for a ride on Patriot?” 

“Polly! I’m leaving for the ball any minute!” said Felicity. 

“I didn’t mean _now_ ,” said Polly. She kicked her foot at the floor. “I’m old enough to handle Patriot on my own anyway,” she grumbled. “I don’t see you always have to ride with me, anyway.”

Felicity sighed. How Polly went on about Patriot! But before they could start their old argument again, Elizabeth stepped forward and clasped Polly’s hands. “Will you help me practice my minuet, Polly?” she asked. 

Felicity fetched her guitar at once. Anything to distract Polly from Patriot!

But Polly just scowled. She knew they were trying to distract her, and she didn’t like it at all.

But when Elizabeth bowed very gravely to Polly, like a gentleman, Polly’s scowl slipped and she gave a little shriek of laughter. Then she covered her mouth and rearranged her face, and curtseyed very gravely back. They took hands, and began to dance the minuet around the room, rocking Mrs. Merriman’s embroidery frame and hopping aside to skirt the table. 

They were laughing so hard they didn’t notice when Mrs. Merriman showed their escorts into the room. Humphrey stood in the doorway, his copper hair bright as he held his hat in his hands and watched Elizabeth dance. 

“Oh!” cried Elizabeth, seeing Humphrey standing there. She hastily dropped a curtsey, her hand pressed to her mouth. 

A thought flashed across Felicity’s mind. She hurried across the room. Catching Elizabeth’s hand, she placed it in Humphrey’s. 

“Elizabeth, this is my cousin, Humphrey Merriman. Humphrey, this is my dear friend, Miss Elizabeth Cole. You’ll be escorting her to the ball this evening.”

“But…” Elizabeth looked surprised. Felicity shook her head, and Elizabeth beamed. She curtseyed to Humphrey again. “Mr. Merriman, I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said, slipping her arm through his.

Stuart silently offered Felicity his elbow, his hangdog expression never changing. But Felicity took his arm with a light heart and followed Elizabeth and Humphrey out to the carriage.


	3. The Ball

The ball at last was winding down. The dancers drifted languidly around the floor, waiting for the orchestra to start the last dance. Felicity adored dancing, and as much as her feet hurt, she wanted terribly to have this last dance. 

But would she find a partner? Stuart stood over by the refreshments table, determinedly drinking his way through a punchbowl, and Humphrey – Felicity looked around the room, and smiled to see that Humphrey and Elizabeth stood examining the Lees new Gilbert Stuart painting. Their two heads bent together, gold hair and copper gleaming in the candlelight.

Elizabeth seemed to feel her eyes, because she turned and smiled at Felicity, waving with the hand that was not still in the crook of Humphrey’s arm. Felicity’s heart lifted. It was a pity she couldn’t dance with Elizabeth again. The ball was short on men, as balls often were, and Felicity was always happy to dance with Elizabeth and let the other girls have a chance with the men. It was always more fun to dance with someone you loved. If only Ben – 

No.

And Elizabeth must have the last dance with Humphrey: the last dance, after the first, was the most meaningful. Felicity sighed. 

The orchestra retuned, a low shimmer of sound that sent a pleasant shiver up Felicity’s spine. 

At least she thought it was the music. But afterwards, she was never sure if she hadn’t felt Ben’s approach, somehow, because when he said “Miss Merriman,” she was not half as surprised as she should have been. 

She turned slowly, and dropped a curtsey. “Mr. Davidson,” she said, so glad to see him and so mortified by that gladness that her voice came out starched and stiff. 

The formality between them sounded terrible and false. Felicity forced herself to look at him. He wore his brown hair in a neat queue, still, but his warm smile was gone. 

Her hands felt icy. She bunched them in her skirt. “I thought you were still in Philadelphia,” she said, and her voice seemed like someone else’s to her. 

“The convention wrapped up,” he said, very grave. He looks like he hasn’t smiled in a long time, Felicity thought. She wanted suddenly to make him smile, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

Neither could he. “Well – ” Felicity said. Why had he bothered to speak to her, if he had nothing to say?

“It’s good to…see you again,” said Ben.

“Yes,” she said. “You look well.”

They lingered, awkwardly. “I should – ” Ben began. 

The orchestra began to play in earnest. “Oh, I’m going to miss the last dance!” she cried.

But Ben held out a hand. “May I have this dance, Miss Merriman?” he asked. An uncertain smile lifted his mouth.

They stood up across from Elizabeth and Humphrey. Elizabeth looked between Ben and Felicity, eyes wide. Felicity gave a tiny shrug, and then the minuet music began, and she put her hand in Ben’s. 

The dance began: the curtseys, the bows, the taking of hands. A girl down the line giggled, a little shrill with tiredness. Humphrey murmured something that made Elizabeth laugh. Ben and Felicity danced in silence. Her skirts swished on the polished wood floor. 

“I hope you found the conclusion of the convention satisfactory,” she said.

“No,” he said. “This new constitution is an outrage.”

Felicity was surprised. “But I thought Washington was for it?” she said, releasing his hand. She knew how Ben idolized General Washington, ever since Valley Forge.

“He does,” Ben admitted, bowing to her, as the dance demanded. She curtseyed, and they came together again, their two hands together. “But he is wrong,” Ben said fiercely. “Hamilton has misled him, I’m sure of it.”

Washington misled? That Ben could even think so infuriated Felicity, but the dance steps took him away, to bow to Elizabeth. Perhaps Elizabeth saw something in his face, for she looked at Felicity over his shoulder, concern etched in her brow. Felicity forced a smile, which usually calmed her, but now the falseness of that smile simply fed her fury. 

The dance forced Ben back to her. “I cannot imagine a man as brave and gallant and dignified and – I cannot imagine General Washington misled,” she said. 

Ben’s cheeks flushed. “But don’t you see, Felicity, it is that which would make him easy to mislead. He’s such an honest man, he doesn’t understand the foul plans that a man like Hamilton can hide behind his arguments. We did not throw off the yoke of London, just to be ruled by tyrants in Philadelphia!” 

“I cannot agree!” Felicity replied. “I cannot agree. How long do you think we will remain independent if we go our separate ways? Will not London pick us off one by one, until we are all colonies again, and our revolution useless?” 

Ben’s nostrils flared. “It’s not ladylike to read newspapers,” he said. 

“Not ladylike!” Felicity said, loud enough that one of the violinists skipped a note. 

Across the minuet set, Elizabeth flashed Felicity a worried look. Felicity smiled at her reassuringly. She was not going to create a scene and ruin Elizabeth's first American ball!

Felicity continued, more quietly but just as passionate. “It's not ladylike to take an interest in the affairs of our country?”

“Miss Merriman,” Ben said. “Please loosen your grip before you crush my hand.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, loosening her grip. His hand had never regained its full strength since he’d lost those two fingers to frostbite. “But I can’t agree with you that women shouldn’t read newspapers. Who do you think will raise our children as good republicans if not women, Benjamin Davidson?” 

“Our children?” said Ben, so surprised he stumbled. A blaze of mortification flushed through Felicity, accompanied by a strange triumph: did he care for her, still?

“The nation’s, I mean,” she said. “I believe if we had children, they would be born with such lust for freedom in their blood that they would hardly need training.”

“On their own behalf, at least,” Ben said. “They would need to learn to care for other people’s freedom, I think.”

Felicity flushed. “You are unfair,” she said. “We freed our slaves, two years past.”

He had the grace to flush as well. “I know,” he said. 

“You know? If you knew, then why didn’t you – ”

He spun, and bowed to her, but she was too startled to curtsey back as the dance demanded. “People talked of little else for weeks! How often does a girl get up at her birthday dinner and tell a whole plantation of slaves that they’re to be manumitted?” 

“I only meant to hurry things along,” said Felicity. 

“Impatient as always,” Ben said. 

“You are unfair,” Felicity repeated, fiercely. “You are always unfair, Ben: to me, and the people I love. Why did you come here?”

The smile dropped from Ben’s face. 

They finished the minuet in silence. Years of dance lessons carried her through the steps. 

If he knew about the manumission, why did he not speak to me before?

***

Elizabeth smoothed the brush through Felicity’s hair, a long soothing stroke. They had long since passed the hundred brushes that were supposed to make hair beautiful. But it felt so lovely having her hair brushed, Felicity did not want Elizabeth to stop. 

“I’m sorry you and Ben fought,” Elizabeth said.

Felicity grimaced. “Oh, don’t let’s talk about that.”

The candlelight cast deep soft shadows in the drapes on Felicity’s bed and the corners of the room. Elizabeth began to plait Felicity’s hair. Her fingers brushed Felicity’s neck. “It was a lovely ball,” she said, tugging the strands tight. 

“Lovely as London?” Felicity asked.

“Lovelier,” said Elizabeth, firmly. “The young men here are so much more handsome, you know.” She gave Felicity’s braid a tug. 

Felicity fell back, head in Elizabeth’s lap. She tilted her head back to look at Elizabeth. “Did you like Humphrey very much?” she asked, wistfully. 

“I believe I could,” Elizabeth said. Felicity sighed. Elizabeth tilted her head to look down at Felicity, blue eyes mischievous. “He looks rather like you.”

Felicity looked thoughtfully up at Elizabeth. “Ben doesn’t much resemble you,” she said. She tugged at one of Elizabeth’s dangling curls and closed her eyes, feeling sudden tears gathering there. She would not see him again, most likely. 

Elizabeth batted her hand away. “I’d be terribly jealous if he did,” she replied, playfully.

Felicity rolled to kneel on the bed, facing her. “Should I be jealous of Humphrey, then?” she asked, teasing, and not quite teasing. 

“No!” Elizabeth’s cheeks were flushed in the candlelight. Her chemise had slipped off her shoulder. She tugged it back in place, and blew out the candle. The air smelled sweet with bayberry wax. “I still love you best, you know,” she said, in the darkness, voice soft beneath the rustle of settling blankets. 

Felicity reached through the dark to find Elizabeth. “You only just met him tonight,” she said, and draped an arm over her friend. 

Elizabeth shifted drowsily under the arm, but did not pull away. “I could like him very much,” she murmured.

“I hope you do,” Felicity said. She felt very tired suddenly, as though a pall of melancholy had settled on them with the blankets; and she closed her eyes, and slept.


	4. Auld Lang Syne

Over the next few days, Felicity and Elizabeth drank a great deal of coffee with Humphrey and giggled when he read to them, picked apples from the trees and spread the resulting apple butter thickly on slices of toast, and rode out a great deal to visit the Coles’ friends: Elizabeth on Penny, Felicity on Patriot, and Polly, slightly grumpy, riding the old sleepy pony. 

And if, when left in the quiet with her thoughts, Felicity began again to have silent arguments with Ben that she had gone over dozens of times last time they had quarreled – and to fret again how long Elizabeth would be in Virginia before she went back across the sea, maybe never to return – well. One more reason to keep things from getting quiet. 

“Can you teach me the latest songs from London?” Felicity asked. 

“You know I don’t play that much better than Annabelle,” Elizabeth said. 

“Yes, you do,” Felicity said. She fetched her grandmother’s old guitar and settled it carefully on Elizabeth’s lap.

Elizabeth stroked the guitar’s neck. “No, I don’t at all; it’s only your affection for me that makes you imagine it so,” she said, and strummed.

Felicity winced. “You did that on purpose,” she accused. 

“That one, yes,” Elizabeth admitted, and strummed again, intently, and began to sing. Whatever problems her playing had, her voice was sweet. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot/and never brought to mind?”

Sweeter – and sadder too. “For auld lang syne,” she sang, and tears pricked Felicity’s eyes. She put a hand on Elizabeth’s wrist to stop her. “Elizabeth, you do realize the guitar is out of tune.” 

“Oh, and you couldn’t stop me earlier!” Elizabeth cried, and handed the guitar to Felicity. “You tune it, Lissie.”

So Felicity took the chair, and Elizabeth leaned against the chair, her arm warm against Felicity’s shoulders as she draped it across the back, and Felicity tuned and tuned again, because she did not want Elizabeth to sing anymore about “seas between us braid hae roar’d.” 

“Do you know yet how long you’ll be stopping in Virginia?” Felicity asked, bending over the guitar. 

“It depends how swiftly Papa can deal with the plantation,” Elizabeth said. “Really, Felicity, surely the guitar’s tuned now?”

How could she be so flippant about it? Felicity put the guitar away from her. “Let’s go riding,” she said, standing restlessly. 

“It looks ready to rain,” Elizabeth said. 

Felicity glanced out the window at the soft gray clouds. “Oh, not for hours,” she said briskly. She had to ride: a good canter could outrun her feelings. 

Elizabeth looked like she might protest. “Polly!” Felicity called. “Do you want to go riding with us?”

Polly clattered down the steps, a small avalanche in a scarlet cloak. “Can I ride Patriot?” she cried. 

“No,” said Felicity. 

Polly sighed deeply. She gathered her scarlet cloak around her. “Fine.” 

They saddled the horses, and gathered on the lane before the house. Elizabeth glanced significantly at the lowering clouds. Felicity ignored her. “Where shall we ride?” she asked. 

“Down to the mill?” suggested Polly, who loved to watch the waterwheel.

“That’s a bit far – ” Elizabeth began.

“Oh, but it will be lovely!” said Felicity. The shortest track to the mill was a difficult ride, a poor path with lots of sudden turns: just the thing to distract her from sad thoughts. “Come, let’s go.”

But when she turned Patriot to the lane, she stopped abruptly, because a horse stood at the gate, its rider looking at them. 

“Ben!” cried Felicity. “Mr. Davidson, I mean,” she said, recovering her dignity, and gave him a cold bow from the back of her horse. 

“Miss Merriman,” he said, and bowed. “I thought to come for a cup of tea, but I don’t mean to interrupt your ride.”

“Oh – ” 

Felicity hesitated, a complex of feelings warring in her breast. Elizabeth jumped into the breech. “Actually, Mr. Davidson,” she said. “We’ve decided not to go, it looks so much like rain.” 

Polly gave a strangled squeak.

Thunder rumbled obligingly. “I suppose that’s wise,” said Felicity, and started back for the house, hands bunched into fists beneath the cover of her cloak. 

“Can I ride Patriot back to the stable?” Polly cried. 

Felicity stopped. “I really ought – ”

“Oh, please, Lissie. You’ve saddled him all up and everything!” Polly said, clasping her hands together. 

She looked so beseeching, her blue eyes wide and her auburn hair falling in her face, that Felicity relented. “All right,” she said. “But go slow, now; remember he’s a great deal more spirited than – ”

“Thank you!” shouted Polly. She spun around, her scarlet cloak swirling around her.

Felicity’s thoughts raced ahead of her as they walked into the parlor. Why was Ben here? He was not unwelcome in the Merriman home, exactly, but they had parted on strained terms. 

Felicity ordered coffee. Ben sat in a chair, leaning forward, his clasped hands hanging between his knees. Elizabeth effaced herself by the window. Felicity stood, undecided.

“Elizabeth’s been teaching me a song,” she said, irrelevantly. 

“Can I hear it?” Ben asked.

“Oh!” She could not play Ben “Auld Lang Syne.” “We only just started. It’s not ready for company yet.” 

The coffee arrived. The rain began to patter on the window. Felicity looked hopelessly at Elizabeth, who smiled at her reassuringly and then turned to watch the red-tipped maple leaves bend under the raindrops. 

“What brings you to Williamsburg?” Felicity asked, at the same time as Ben said, “This coffee is quite good.” They both stopped, and looked at each other, and tried to speak at the same time again, and they both laughed. 

The laughter made the air a bit easier, but Felicity still did not know what to say. “How long will you be in Williamsburg?” she tried, again. 

Ben turned his tricorn over in his hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “I thought I would go back to Philadelphia, but…I don’t know.”

“Have you decided you can’t stand to act as a clerk in the tyrannical new government?” Felicity said, dryly.

It cut him. His mouth tightened. If he says I am unladylike – she thought, mutinously; but he said, “I do not see that I can honorably serve in a government that approves of slavery, Miss Merriman.” 

“I think that if all the men of sense refuse to serve in it, then the government will never change that view,” Felicity returned. 

“Just as well I am staying in Virginia, then, if you demand men of sense,” Ben replied. 

Felicity lifted her chin. “I suppose so.”

“But Felicity, don’t you see?” said Ben, forgetting his formality in the urgency of the argument. “It is not men of sense you need to overturn slavery? You need men with a wider vision than that. Is Thomas Paine a man of sense? People say he’s half-mad, but it is by his vision of our freedom that we broke the British yoke.” 

Felicity was silent, turning it over in her mind. “That is not why you told me you disapproved the government at the Lees ball,” she said.

“Could I announce in the Lees ball – the Lees, who own hundreds of slaves! – that I disapproved of slavery? And anyway, I do not think I am wrong to fear the tyranny of Philadelphia, Felicity; you have not met New Englanders, as I have. I am sure they disapproved of Britain’s rule because it was not strict enough for them.” 

Elizabeth, in her window seat, giggled. Felicity looked over at her. “I met New Englanders when we joined Papa in New York,” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Davidson may be right.”

“In that case, it is all the more important for sensible Virginians to join the legislature to stop them!” Felicity said. “You fought a war for our freedom, Ben, I cannot see how you can give up when it is so close to us!” 

“It’s a pity we can’t send you to the legislature,” he said, with a smile.

“It is!” she replied. “But it would not be ladylike, I’m sure.” 

He looked down at his hands. “I am sorry. I should not have said that to you.”

She poured him another cup of coffee. “Why did you, then?” she asked. 

“Oh – ” He was embarrassed. He hid his face behind his coffee cup. “I could not think how to counter your argument."

He looked so shame-faced that Felicity had to laugh, as he had meant her to, though it exasperated her. “If I had a fan, I would hit you,” she told him. “That’s a coward’s tactic, sir!” 

“It is,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.” He hesitated, and leaned forward. “Felicity, listen. I have been a coward about a lot of things, I think. I should have – years ago, I should have written to you. I…” 

Felicity found herself leaning in as well, as his voice grew softer. “I was too proud. But now…”

“Felicity!” Elizabeth said sharply.

Felicity and Ben both started, and Felicity realized in surprise how far they had leaned into their tete a tete. “What?” she asked. 

“Look,” said Elizabeth, and her voice was tight and strange. 

Felicity went to the window, and gasped. Patriot pranced around the yard, his sides lathered and his eyes wild. The sidesaddle sat askew on his back. A torn bit of red cloth flapped from its stirrup.


	5. The Tortoise and the Hare

A wave of cold swept over Felicity. Before she knew what she was doing, she had run out the front door and grasped Patriot’s reins, gentling the frightened horse with a hand against his neck. “Shh, shh,” she soothed, stroking his mane as she looked hopefully toward the mill path. 

But Polly did not emerge from the trees, shaken but unscathed. Patriot must have thrown her. She might be hurt – she might be –

“Felicity?” Elizabeth said, and Felicity saw that Elizabeth and Ben stood a few feet away, looking as uncertain and frightened as she felt. 

Felicity set her chin. “Patriot must have thrown Polly,” she said. “Elizabeth, take him to the stables, then go in the house and ready everything needful in case she’s hurt.” Elizabeth nodded and moved alongside Patriot, stroking his neck as Felicity had done, and offering him a lump of sugar she’d snagged from the coffee set. Clever Elizabeth! 

Felicity began to march across the yard, her skirts bunched up in her fists to free her strides. “Ben, come with me. If she’s hurt, I won’t be able to carry her.” 

“Shouldn’t we get the horses?” Ben asked, loping to catch up with her. His cloak flapped behind him. 

Felicity shook her head. “The mill trail’s too treacherous when it’s wet. We’ll be faster on our feet. Oh, Polly!” How could Felicity have even thought about taking the mill trail when it looked like rain? 

“Are you sure Polly took the mill trail?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” said Felicity. “It’s her favorite path, the path we meant to take for our ride, and we rarely – ”

Felicity stopped. She rarely rode on the mill trail now, because she and Ben had taken so many happy rides down the wooded paths, stopping at the end for picnics at the mill. Polly had ridden with them, an eight-year-old chaperone, still happy on her little pony then, her copper hair shining in the sun. 

Felicity swallowed. “Polly is not one for changing her mind.”

The wooded path was not inviting now, dark and wet as it was, with its copious stones slippery underfoot. Thunder grumbled above them, and rain dripped on their heads. The rain made the only sound in the forest. It was only that the birds and squirrels were sheltering from the rain, Felicity told herself, but still the silence seemed eerie. Felicity shivered. 

“Take my cloak,” Ben said. 

“I’m not cold,” Felicity protested.

“You’ll catch cold in that thin dress,” he insisted. She let him drape the warm wool cloak around her shoulders, and though she was not cold, she drew comfort from that kindness.

“Polly!” she shouted. 

“Polly!” Ben called, also. But the forest seemed to eat their shouts. 

Felicity’s legs almost ached with the effort of walking slowly. She wanted to badly to run and find her little sister! But it would do no good to anyone if she fell and hurt herself. Patience, she reminded herself, but despite all her reminders she found her pace picking up.

She slipped on a smooth rock. Ben caught her, a hand on her waist. “Careful,” he said. 

She took a deep breath. “Polly! Where are you?” 

But there was no answer. They walked on. Felicity held out her hand and Ben took it, squeezing her hand with the three fingers that frostbite left him. 

A raindrop splashed on Felicity’s nose. The silence pressed down on them. The path descended into a mud wallow. Felicity gritted her teeth and strode into it, only to slip on the mud in her haste. If she had not been holding Ben’s hand, she would have fallen headfirst into the mire. 

He helped her to her feet, and they picked their way to the steady ground again. Felicity’s shoes squished with mud with each step, slowing her further. She could have cried with impatience. “Do you know the story of the tortoise and the hare?” she asked.

It sounded nonsensical as soon as she said it, but Ben knew what she meant. “‘Slow and steady wins the race,’” he quoted. 

“Dear old Aesop,” said Felicity. “A tale for every occasion.” She remembered her mother telling her the fables when she was a little girl, and telling them to Polly herself as they sheltered under a willow waiting for a storm to pass on a ride. “Polly!” she shouted. The sound of raindrops mocked back at her. “Polly!”

“Lissie?” came a little voice. 

“Polly!” Felicity shouted, and only Ben’s hand in hers stopped her from charging forward on the slippery path. “Polly, where are you?” she called. 

“I’ve got back – back onto the path now,” Polly said, her voice beginning to tremble at the end. “Lissie? Lissie, are you still there?”

Felicity began to walk again, her fists clenched in her effort against running. “Yes, I’m here. I’m coming,” she said. “We’re coming, Polly, don’t worry.” 

Then she rounded the bend, and her sister lay on the path ahead of her. Felicity gasped, and almost began to run despite herself, but Ben’s hand tightened on hers. “Slow and steady now,” he said softly, and she forced herself to walk slowly down the last length of the treacherous path to Polly. 

Polly had leaves in her hair and mud slicked down the front of the dress. A great rip rent her red riding cloak, and tear tracks marked in the mud on her face. Felicity had never been so happy to see anyone. 

“Where are you hurt, Polly love?” she asked, kneeling beside Polly on the muddy path. She wrapped Ben’s cloak around her little sister. 

“My ankle – I twisted my ankle,” Polly said. “And I rolled down the hill after I fell off Patriot, because I was r-riding him to fast, and he s-slipped, and – ” Polly began to sob. Felicity held her sister close, rocking her gently. “Is Patriot all right?” Polly whispered. “Lissie, is he hurt?”

Felicity’s heart melted. “No, Polly, he’s fine,” she said. “He ran right back to our house to get help, and Elizabeth feeding him a nice bucket of oats right now, I’m sure.” She stroked Polly’s hair, gentling her as she had gentled Patriot earlier. “Ben – ”

He was beside her in a moment. “Polly, I’m going to carry you back,” he said. 

“All right,” said Polly, and raised her arms to make it easier. He lifted her into his arms, and they began the slow trek back along the slippery path.


	6. A Lifetime's Worth

When they arrived back at the Merrimans’ house, Mrs. Merriman took control. She ordered Polly put to bed, sent Felicity’s little brother William to fetch a doctor, bade Elizabeth bring hot water to warm Polly up, and told Felicity to change her dress.

“Change my dress!” Felicity cried, indignantly. “At a time like this!” 

“You’re soaked through!” her mother said, and Felicity looked down at her dress, and realized again that her front was covered with mud to the knee from her fall. 

But when Felicity came back in her clean dress, her mother shooed her away at the sickroom door. “Go sit by the fire with Ben,” she said. 

“But – ” said Felicity.

“We can’t have two sick children in the house,” Mrs. Merriman said. 

“But I must help her,” Felicity pleaded. “It’s all my fault – I led her into temptation, I saddled up Patriot and offered to go on the mill path and – ”

Mrs. Merriman laid her hands on Felicity’s cheeks. Felicity bowed her head, and Mrs. Merriman stood on tiptoe to kiss her brow. “Felicity, Polly is half grown. She is old enough to resist temptation when it stares her in the face. You helped by bringing her back, and now you can help by sitting by the fire so you don’t catch cold.” She kissed Felicity’s brow again. “Now go entertain Ben.”

So Felicity went down to the parlor. “I believe they’re scheming,” she said, shutting the door behind her. 

Ben sat by the fire, next to a steaming coffee pot. “Do you mind if they are?” he asked, holding his hands close to the blaze. 

“I suppose not,” she admitted. 

She would have liked to keep the light tone between them: to banter of cheerful things, and rebuild the bond that had been so nearly severed. But she found it hard to think of anything but Polly injured upstairs, and could not help but feel guilty for it, though she knew her mother was right. 

Felicity paced. Measured, ladylike paces were not very calming. But Polly would be all right, surely. She was young, and strong, and had not been out in the rain very long. 

Felicity found that she was shivering. She went to sit next to the fire, by Ben, and poured them both cups of coffee. “I’m glad you were here,” she said. “How did you come to be here?” 

“Miss Cole wrote to me.”

“Elizabeth!” cried Felicity. 

“Yes; I brought her note,” Ben said, and produced it from an inner pocket. 

And indeed, it was Elizabeth's elegant hand. _Dear Mr. Davidson_ , the note began:

_I know it is unconventional to write to you, but then I think it is silly for you and Felicity, of all people, to allow convention to stand between you: and I truly believe that you both earnestly desire a reconciliation, which you are too proud to admit. If it is so, then_ – 

Felicity pressed the note in her lap. “Elizabeth!” she said again. 

Ben watched her anxiously. “Was she wrong, then?” he asked. 

“It always surprises me when she does something like this,” she admitted. “She seems so proper, and then she contrives to steal a gown to finish it for me, or writes a letter, or what have you.” 

Upstairs, Polly gave a strangled noise. Felicity crushed the letter in her lap, her hands clenching involuntarily on her skirts. 

Ben stood. “I know it is a poor time,” Ben said. “You must want to be with your sister. May I hope to come back?” 

A part of Felicity’s heart cried Yes!. But another part, still sore from his long silence, turned her eyes to her coffee cup, and she said without looking at him. “Why, now that you have rescued Polly, it is not possible that we would bar the door.” 

“ _We_ rescued Polly,” Ben corrected. 

Felicity glanced at the ceiling, as if her concern could strip through layers of wood and let her see how Polly got on, upstairs. She found herself on her feet again, and pacing, and Ben said, strained, “I am sorry if I have presumed. I thought – I wanted, when I came here, to repair things between us, and I thought we had gone some little way toward it. But do not feel obliged to do it, because I helped carry your sister. You would have saved her without me. You’re under no obligation.” 

The stiffness of his speech touched on the rawness of her heart, and she cried, “I do not ask you out of obligation! I want you to come back, I have wanted so much – but you see, that is why I hesitate. A word from you, an apology, and we could have been married four years ago, as planned! And you have said nothing! Why show up now?” 

“You ordered me never to speak to you again,” Ben said. “Forgive me for taking you at your word. And we could not have married – is your memory so short? Your family had not freed your slaves.” 

She remembered: I refuse to marry into blood money, he had said. The memory sparked a last burst of fury, and then it seemed all the fuel burnt out. She felt very tired. 

How was Polly getting on? She wanted to go check on her. But she knew that would be a retreat, and she must see this conversation through to the end. 

“But when you heard we had – ” she said, leaning on the chair back staring into the fire. “You made no attempt to contact – ”

“Neither did you nor your father contact me.”

“I was not going to go to you, like a child with her first sampler, to ask for praise for doing right,” Felicity said. “I could never have done it: as Elizabeth said, I am too proud. Especially as I was in the wrong.”

“Well, and I was wrong too. Not about that. But I am sorry that I said – what I said – about your grandfather. I spoke in anger, and I know I was unjust. He wasn’t that kind of man. He would never have…” 

Ben hesitated, searching for delicate words. Felicity felt a sudden light-headedness. His apology had lanced a sore that had grown and festered on her heart.

“He would never have violated anyone under his governance,” Ben finished, at length.

“Grandfather certainly would not!” Felicity exploded. “In fact, I found a letter one of his guests sent him. The guest complained that Grandfather’s hospitality was entirely lacking, that when he visited a plantation he expected a wench in his bed and – ”

“Felicity!” Ben was horrified.

“I’m only quoting,” Felicity said. “I have the letter, if you’d like to see it. I found it going through Grandfather’s papers to get the manumissions sorted.”

“You shouldn’t have to see such awful things,” Ben said. 

“Oh, bother it all!” said Felicity. “I don’t believe for a moment that it makes the world better to hide awful things from women. It only makes it more convenient for men who wish to be awful. Would my dear horse Penny be better off if I had not seen that Jiggy Nye was using her cruelly, and helped her to escape?”

“You may have a point,” Ben admitted. He sipped his coffee. “I find I am out of the habit of arguing with you,” he added. “I find that I have missed it.” 

“And I have missed arguing with you,” Felicity admitted. 

“So may I hope to return, then?” Ben said again. “To argue some more?” 

He had extended his hand, palm up. It was more a question than a request. Felicity leaned across the back of the chair to place her fingers in his. “Yes, I think you must come back,” she said. “We have a great many arguments yet to canvass.” 

“A lifetime’s worth?” Ben asked, with a gentle squeeze of her hand. 

Felicity bit her lip, but she could not keep her eyes from shining. “Perhaps,” she said.


	7. Whither Thou Goest

Felicity did not get a chance to talk to Elizabeth until after midnight. She sat the first watch at Polly’s bedside, watching Polly toss restlessly, and stumbled very tired to her room after.

“Elizabeth!” she said, when her candlelight illuminated Elizabeth’s face. 

“How is Polly?” Elizabeth asked. 

“She’s well enough. She’s not sleeping well because of the pain, but there seems to be no fever.” Felicity sat on the edge of the bed, taking Elizabeth’s hand. She realized only as she touched Elizabeth’s warm hand how cold her own had gotten. “Did you stay awake to ask me?” she asked, and felt a lump in her throat. Elizabeth was such a good friend. It would be unbearable if she went back to England again. “Elizabeth, you shouldn’t have.” 

“I only just woke up,” Elizabeth assured her. She took Felicity’s hand in both of hers. “You’re so cold, Lissie! Undress quick and get under the covers.” 

Felicity did as she was told. Elizabeth scooted over the cold side of the bed, and Felicity cocooned herself in the warm sheets. Elizabeth’s hair was escaping its braid, curling in little gold tendrils about her face. Felicity smiled to see how pretty she looked. 

“I wish Humphrey could see you like that,” Felicity said. 

“Oh, Lissie!” Elizabeth protested. 

“I believe he’d ask to marry you in seconds,” Felicity said wickedly. 

“I believe he’d have to ask me to marry him before he saw any such thing,” Elizabeth said. But she smiled, her cheeks flushed slightly. “Felicity? Did Ben…?”

“You – !” Felicity cried, laughing. The ropes under the mattress protested as she sat up and smacked Elizabeth with her pillow. “He showed me the letter you sent him, you wicked, scheming girl,” she said, pouncing on Elizabeth and tickling her. Elizabeth gave a muted shriek. “Why did you write to him?” 

“It’s very well for you I did!” Elizabeth replied, grabbing Felicity’s hands.

“Well – yes,” Felicity admitted. She couldn’t help smiling. Elizabeth relaxed her grip, and Felicity pounced in again, tickling her ribs through her chemise. “But what if we hadn’t worked things out? What would be your excuse then?”

Elizabeth rolled off the bed. “Surely it would have been better to talk and be unable to work it out, than to not work it out simply because you never spoke again?” she said, chemise twisted around her legs.

Felicity considered it, hanging her head off the edge of the bed. “That’s so, I suppose,” she admitted. She reached down and tugged Elizabeth’s chemise down, so it didn’t expose quite so much thigh. Then she rolled back into her warm half of the bed, blankets pulled up to her nose. 

Elizabeth blew out the candle as she got back into bed, and pulled the bed curtains close. Felicity stared up at the thin line of moonlight slicing across the canopy, listening to the ropes creak as Elizabeth settled into bed. She felt the lump in her throat again. She knew without Elizabeth she might never have worked things out with Ben: Elizabeth had done the right thing, even though writing Ben was hardly delicate. 

Felicity had never in her heart really approved of delicacy. 

“ _Will_ you marry Humphrey?” Felicity asked.

The ropes creaked again as Elizabeth sat up. “Lissie! I met him less than a week ago!”

“Engagements have been announced on less,” Felicity said wistfully. 

“Only by very foolish people,” Elizabeth said, decidedly. “I _do_ like him – very much – only don’t be so impatient, Lissie!” 

Felicity sighed. “I am afraid I shall never learn to be patient,” she said, pressing her cheek into the pillow.

“Yes; but we love it in you,” said Elizabeth. “You make things happen, when the rest of us would stand and wait.” She reached across the coverlet, her hand colliding with Felicity’s breast before moving upward to caress her shoulder. 

“It is only I am worried,” Felicity said. She grasped Elizabeth’s caressing hand, and pressed it to her cheek. “It is only I am worried that you’ll go back to England, and I shall never see you again, and just thinking of it makes me want to marry you off to the nearest fishmonger if only it will keep you in Virginia.”

“Felicity!” Elizabeth protested, laughing, and squeezed Felicity’s hand. “You can do better than a fishmonger for me, surely.” 

“I wish _I_ could marry you,” Felicity said. She kissed Elizabeth’s hand, and tugged Elizabeth’s arm till Elizabeth scooted closer, so they both lay on the same pillow. “It could have been settled as soon as you stepped off the boat, then.” 

“On the pier?” said Elizabeth. The breath from her soft laugh brushed Felicity’s face. “What a lack of romance!”

“And without speaking to your father first, too,” said Felicity, mock-sorrowful. She brightened. “We could run away together, like the Ladies of Llangollen! That would be _terribly_ romantic. We can climb out my window. The apple tree is really quite convenient.”

“Felicity!” Elizabeth said. “Why have you been climbing out your apple tree?” Before Felicity could admit to meeting Ben during their first courtship, Elizabeth added playfully, “You haven’t been meeting other girls, have you?” 

“Never!” Felicity said. “I’ve been absolutely constant to you. Miss Smith last spring was most charming, I admit, and Miss Dearborn the year before that; and indeed, I seem to remember a Miss Tilbury, but…”

“Coquette,” Elizabeth said. 

Felicity kissed her nose, or meant to, but it landed rather alarmingly right beneath Elizabeth’s eye. Elizabeth giggled. “And anyway, if we ran away you couldn’t marry Ben.” 

Felicity sighed again. “Yes. Ben.” He seemed, for a moment, nothing but an impediment, as if she really could have married Elizabeth were it not for him. “If only we could both marry Ben, like Rachel and Leah married Jacob!” Felicity burst out. 

“That’s a sorry precedent,” Elizabeth replied, and Felicity could not but agree. 

“So we are back to Humphrey, then,” she said. 

“ _Felicity_ ,” Elizabeth complained. “Felicity, you must simply stop fretting. I won't go to England: you live in Virginia, so I will stay. Go to sleep or you’ll take ill.” 

Felicity could not argue with that. Elizabeth snuggled into the pillow till her forehead rested against Felicity’s shoulder. Her eyelashes brushed Felicity’s collarbone. Felicity draped an arm around her friend. 

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Felicity murmured. 

“Hmm?” 

“If you go back to England,” Felicity said. “Because whither thou goest, I will go.” 

Elizabeth stirred. “But Ben?” she murmured, her breath warm against Felicity’s skin. 

“Oh, he can come too,” Felicity said. “I am sure there is something that we must overthrow in England.”


	8. A Peek into the Past

What American Girl story can be counted complete without its “Looking Back” essay at the end, informing its readers about the history underlying the story? In my case, this is not so much an essay about history as a “Bless me, father, for I have sinned” section. I did almost no research for this story, beyond the information about the Revolutionary Era that I’ve picked up over the years. 

Many of Felicity’s attitudes are really more reminiscent of the nineteenth century than the eighteenth: the whole “If I were man, I’d marry you!” thing, for instance, draws on whole strings of nineteenth-century women (some of whom went on to marry men, and some of whom lived in Boston marriages with women) saying similar things. A couple of examples:

M. Carey Thomas, in 1880: “If it were only possible for women to elect women as well as men for a [life’s] love” (Sicherman, _Well-Read Lives_ , 125)

Julia Newberry, 1870s: “If I were man, would n’t I be a flirt!”

Felicity is a woman ahead of her time. 

A few genuinely 18th century details: 

Felicity’s comment that women ought to know about current events because “Who do you think will raise our children as good republicans if not women, Benjamin Davidson?” refers to the ideal of republican motherhood, which was very popular among women in the post-Revolutionary years. Felicity’s comment basically sums up the ideal. 

Although Burns didn’t record "Auld Lang Syne" till 1788, it was a Scottish folk tune for years before then. Elizabeth wouldn’t have called it one of “the latest songs from London" when she sang it for Felicity, though. Possibly she was attempting to send Felicity a message through the medium of music? 

The letter to Felicity’s grandfather references a letter complaining about the hospitality at Washington’s Mount Vernon (which I read in David Hackett’s _Albion’s Seed_ , a fascinating book about regional culture in the US). The writer – who was writing to a friend, not Washington himself (whoever wrote Felicity’s grandfather must have been very ill-bred indeed!) – thought he ought to have been provided with a sex slave for the stay. 

The issue of freeing slaves was a contemporary concern among Virginia planters. During the Revolutionary era, lots of planters slavery ought to be abolished – largely because, c.f. Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia, they thought it had a bad effect on freeborn whites, by making them despise honest labor. But most of them, like Jefferson, didn’t free their slaves, or (like Washington) freed them only in their wills.

Felicity and co. have about as much insight into their slave’s inner lives as contemporary accounts suggest most masters did – which is to say, none at all. In _Passion is the Gale_ , Nicole Eustace argues that ignoring slave’s feelings is a method of oppression that dates back to the ancient Greeks. Aristotle argued that ‘natural’ slaves lack thumos, or spirit, and are thus emotionless.

The original Felicity books, for all that one of them takes place on a plantation, don’t deal with slavery at all. That issue is one of the things that inspired me to write this story.


End file.
